


Tired of Bleeding

by Natt_theghost (justasign)



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Bullying, Character Study, Forced coming out, Gen, Homophobic Language, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasign/pseuds/Natt_theghost
Summary: When Thomas thought about his childhood, he mostly just remembered being confused and terrified. And angry, so very angry. He hadn't understood what he was feeling, only that it made the other boys hate him. A sin for which the only absolution was for him to pay in blood.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	1. 1903

**Author's Note:**

> Thomas only receives forgiveness from others after he bleeds for it on this show and I decided I wanted to explore that. My plan is to write multiple stories, most in the canon of the show but some not, with this idea. 
> 
> Content Warning:  
> Period-Typical homophobia  
> Homophobic violence  
> Homophobic slurs

Thomas looked up at the sky, beaten and bloody, and all he could think about was that he needed new shoes. He'd been able to run really fast when he first got the pair he was wearing but it felt like he was slowing down. It had to be shoes. Maybe he could convince his mother to let him wear his rugby shoes all the time. He was way faster than all the other boys when he played rugby—they could never lay a finger on him during a game—but in these stupid shoes, they managed to grab him.

He had thought he was being smart, cutting through a field on the way home from school, avoiding the other boys. But he hadn't needed smarts, he had needed speed. All he had accomplished was cushioning his fall on the grass instead of the cobblestones of the road. Well, he had to find his victories where he could. Thomas knew he had to pick himself up and go home but the thought filled him with dread. How was he going to explain to his father that he had been smacked around for the _third time this week?_ He closed his eyes and sighed. It was getting harder to pass it off as just bullies being bullies. Thomas wasn't poor, he wasn't stupid, he was athletic, he wasn't ugly, he wasn't Catholic or Irish. Pretty soon his father was going to figure it out for himself why the other boys kicked his arse all the time.

If he didn't know already. Sometimes Thomas would hear his parents talking about him in hushed tones and that had to mean they knew. But at the moment it wasn't real yet. No one had said it out loud, no one had put the tiger on the table and yelled at it. Maybe he could keep it like this, somehow hold the lid down on the pot as it boiled. The tension was uncomfortable, it made Thomas so nervous he had started to grind his teeth, but surely it was better than the inevitable explosion. Maybe he could find a way to live like this, in this constant stasis, a permanent eye of a storm. Maybe he could stay in this field forever and never go home.

A shadow crossed Thomas's face, interrupting his ruminating. He opened his eyes.

"Oh good, you're awake. I thought they might've knocked you right out cold."

Thomas rolled his eyes. It was his neighbor Sam, who only really hung around Thomas to get close to Maggie, Thomas's older sister. Maggie, on the other hand, would rather chew broken glass than give Sam the time of day but he was nothing if not persistent. Besides, her loss was Thomas's gain; Sam was funny and smart, and worth looking at too. He had lovely dark eyes and wavy sandy blonde hair and a smile so warm it made Thomas's heart ache. He imagined for a moment that he lived in a different world, a world where he could pull Sam into his arms and bury his face in Sam's neck for comfort, but he didn't fancy getting his skull bashed in for the second time today so he shoved all of those feelings down and pretended to be annoyed.

"Piss off, Sam," Thomas snapped and Sam feigned a look of shock.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, Barrow?" he replied, holding his hand out to help Thomas up.

He was reluctant at first to accept the help but the pain in his ribs outweighed his damaged pride. He took Sam's hand, groaning as his sides twinged from the effort. Sam looked him over, his dark eyes narrowing as he gingerly grabbed Thomas's chin and turned his face slowly left then right. Butterflies fluttered all around in Thomas's stomach and his face grew hot at the attention. It made him feel exposed and embarrassed like he was doing something he wasn't supposed to and at any moment the boys would come back and call him an invert again. But he was absolutely not going to tell Sam to stop. Delicately, Sam touched a nick on Thomas's left cheekbone, causing him to hiss in pain. Sam immediately withdrew his hands, much to Thomas's disappointment.

"Sorry, I just wanted to check the damage," he said apologetically.

Thomas shrugged and laughed humorlessly.

"Yeah well, there's definitely enough damage," Thomas said, trying to act more casual than he felt.

"We should get you home to your mum. She'll probably be able to fix you right up."

"Yeah, right after she has a fit," Thomas muttered bitterly.

They walked in silence for a bit until Sam broke the silence.

"You can't just let them push you around, you know?" he said, his usually mirthful air turned surprisingly somber. "If you give one of them a crack in the face they'll leave you be."

Thomas scoffed.

"And who do you want me to punch? Harry? He's three years older than me and way bigger," Thomas shook his head. "All I'd do is make them angry is all."

"Nah, if you punch him he'll know he can't get away with it no more. You have to fight your corner or they'll never leave you alone." Sam's voice was adamant. "Why do they pick on you anyway?"

Thomas shrugged. He wasn't going to tell Sam the reason, he couldn't bear it if he was rejected or if Sam decided to tell someone else. Technically, Thomas hadn't broken any laws yet but that didn't mean anything. He had no idea if he could go to jail for this so young—he was only thirteen after all—but that didn't change the fact that his parents could throw him out and no one would care.

"I dunno."

Sam looked at him for a moment with a long considering eye before nodding.

"It's because you're ugly as sin, Barrow," Sam said completely deadpan.

Thomas punched him in the arm, causing Sam to yelp in pain before breaking into that wide, lopsided grin that made Thomas's heart skip a beat.

"See? Just give Harry one of those and he'll turn tail and run!"

Thomas shook his head and looked down at his shoes with a wry smile. God, this was the loveliest form of torture, the cruelest bliss; he wanted nothing more than to tangle his fingers in Sam's hair and kiss his stupid mouth, to touch his face and map every one of his adorable freckles. His hands felt like they were burning so he shoved them in his pockets to try and assuage the bone-deep itch to touch skin to skin.

"I doubt that would do anything," Thomas said quietly. "If all it took was a little smack from some weedy git, he would have given up ages ago."

"So you have to do more than smack him, then."

"Like what?"

Before Thomas could even look up, he was tackled to the ground. Panicked, he started flailing, trying to break free from his assailant before he registered that it was Sam pinning him down on the grass.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he squawked indignantly.

"Come on, show me what you've got!" Sam was grinning like a madman, all wide-eyed and toothy.

Thomas tried to leverage himself to flip them over so he was holding Sam down but the latter was sturdy than he seemed. He didn't know what the rules were here; were they just wrestling? Did he expect Thomas to hit him? No, that seemed excessive. This had to just be roughhousing and he knew how to do that. He bucked up his pelvis, throwing Sam's weight and rolled him on his back, his shirt front gripped tightly in Thomas's hands. Sam pushed him back and tried to regain his position but Thomas was stronger and more athletic than Sam, forcing him to use his brain more than his arms.

They rolled around and struggled in the grass like this, shouting and laughing and swearing at each other until they were both gasping for breath. Thomas had managed to reclaim his spot over Sam, his hands firmly pressing his friend's wrists to the grass beneath them. They were both laughing breathlessly like the silly boys they were, covered in dirt and grass stains and little banged up, especially in Thomas's case.

"There you go," said Sam, still breathing heavily. "You've got some fight in you. Harry better watch himself next time, yeah?"

He looked down at the boy below him and felt that squeeze, that tightness in his chest return with a vengeance. Sam's blond hair was damp and his face had a lovely pink flush to it and Thomas felt fit to burst. Thomas leaned in, just a little bit, just enough to feel Sam's breath on his face and pretend that things were different, that Sam was different, that the world was different. Almost instantly, Thomas felt his friend tense up underneath him.

_Fuck._

"What are you doing, Thomas?" Sam said, a dangerous edge to his voice creeping in slowly.

Immediately, Thomas pulled away from him, his eyes wide and a litany of apologies escaping his lips.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything by it! I were only—see, I was just tired and that's all that was." Thomas was starting to babble, the panic was completely overwhelming him. "I didn't mean anything—"

A hand struck Thomas across his face, hard. All the words that had been bubbling up caught in his throat and he saw Sam looking at him with an expression he'd never seen on his face before. His normally soft and friendly features were colored cold and hard, almost blank save for the furrowed brow and tightly pressed line of his mouth. Thomas began to tremble, his throat was tight and growing tighter and the tell-tale prickling of tears in his eyes was building. This was it. His worst nightmare. He stared at the grass and hoped the ground would open up and swallow him whole. God, he was so _stupid_. He was so _weak_. _Stop crying, you bleeding pansy! It's your fault, man up!_

"So that's it. You're a bloody queer, aren't you?" That edge hadn't left Sam's voice and it was terrifying.

Thomas nodded, sniffing loudly.

"But you can't tell anybody. Please, I swear I'll leave you alone and I won't come round your house no more and—and I won't talk to you or even look at you. But you _can't_ tell anybody." Thomas had never begged anyone for anything in his life but he would cut off his own hand if it meant that Sam kept this to himself. "Please Sam, please! I've been a good friend to you, haven't I? Just do this one thing for me and you won't ever have to see me again."

Sam looked at Thomas, that long considering gaze so much more piercing with this unfamiliar edge to it. It felt like his dark eyes were cutting right to the core of him, leaving him bloody and exposed.

"And it's me, right? You want to have it off with me?" Thomas gripped the grass beneath him, knuckles white.

"Don't make me say it."

"So it is me."

"You have it all wrong." Thomas swallowed hard. His voice was all wobbly and it was humiliating. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to take a steady breath and failed.

"What do I have _wrong_ , Thomas? Because you just fucking tried to kiss me."

This was a nightmare. This was hell. The other boys had killed Thomas back there and he was in hell now. That had to be the case. There was no other explanation for just how mortifying this situation was and he just couldn't leave.

"I wa—I wasn't going to kiss you. I have more sense than that, you idiot," snapped Thomas. Maybe it was unwise to get sharp at the moment but he just couldn't stop himself.

"So you don't want to have it off with me? Is that what I'm supposed to believe?" Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"It's not that!" God, was he really going to admit this right now? He had already strung this out too long, he should have kept his _stupid_ mouth shut. "Or it's not just that."

He took a shaky breath and continued.

"I'm in love with you," he mumbled, looking at his dirty hands in the grass.

"What?" Sam tilted his head, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I said, I'm in love with you."

The silence that followed was unbearably heavy and threatened to crush Thomas under its weight. He pushed on if only to abate the hostile quiet.

"I don't just want to _have it on with you_ ," he spat. "I want to—I don't know, do things for you and with you. Like what you do for Maggie. I want to hold your hand and make you laugh and give you stupid little trinkets. I want to— _Christ_ —I want to kiss you so bad it hurts sometimes. You're important to me and I care about you and I care for you. It's not just, you know, about _that_."

The heavy silence returned and Thomas wasn't brave enough to look at Sam again, too afraid of what he might see in his face. Would he be disgusted? Thomas wouldn't blame him if he was. He just poured his whole heart out to another boy and what did expect to get out of it? Reciprocation? That wasn't likely, not with how harsh the other boy's voice had been. God, this whole thing just went to hell in a handbasket in half a minute flat.

_SMACK!_

Another hard strike came across his face, ripping a sob deep from Thomas's chest. Still, he didn't look up, he kept staring at his hands and felt blood drip from his nose on to his trousers.

"You're an idiot, Thomas Barrow," Sam said in an almost nonchalant tone of voice. Thomas looked up at him, confused. "I'm not going to tell anyone, not if you promise to act like you're  
normal."

Thomas nodded enthusiastically. _Thank God_.

"Good. Come on, I'm supposed to be getting you home." Sam stood, making a half-hearted attempt at brushing the dirt and grass off his trousers before holding a hand out to Thomas.

He took it, maybe a little too eagerly, and pulled himself up. Once on his feet, Thomas quickly pulled his hand away, wiping at some of the blood still trickling from his nose and then returned his hands to his pockets. Their walk home was silent and Thomas made no attempts to ease back into their banter, too nervous to push his luck in a foolish effort to return to normalcy. Eventually, they made their way to Thomas's house and before they parted, he paused.

"So, we're still friends then?" Thomas hated how childish he sounded but he had to know, just had to be sure.

Sam smirked back up at him.

"Yeah, I reckon we can still be friends. As long as you keep up your end of the bargain."

Thomas smiled back.

"I will."

Sam held out his hand and Thomas took it, giving him a firm shake. Sam broke the contact and headed off toward his own home. Thomas took a deep breath and practiced his excuses for when his parents saw his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing for this fandom and I had a good time, despite the subject matter. I'm pretty nervous because this fandom has some fantastic fic writers. I hope at least one person likes this :)  
> I feel that it is important that I say that I don't approve of Sam's actions in this. I don't think this is a healthy friendship and I didn't intend for it to be. I wanted to portray what I thought Thomas would settle for. It's not too far off from his friendship with Jimmy if we're being honest with ourselves and I just wanted to show that even though we might think that Thomas deserves better than reluctant tolerance (he certainly does), he'll accept whatever he can get because he's lonely.
> 
> Also, I based the wrestling and checking out the injury scene very loosely on Moonlight. If you haven't seen that movie, what are you doing?


	2. 1921

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers when Thomas takes the beating for Jimmy at the fair and the subsequent scenes after that.  
> Thomas has to buy Jimmy's forgiveness in blood, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine is doing wonders for my creativity, folks.
> 
> There is dialogue straight from the show in here because I covered those scenes but I tried to breeze through them so you guys don't have to read a transcript of the episode basically. 
> 
> Some content warnings just in case:  
> Mild homophobic slurs  
> Very minor descriptions of injuries  
> Brief mentions of blood
> 
> Enjoy!

Thomas shouldn't have let himself get grabbed, that was his first mistake. At least he had gotten one good punch in but he was never much of a fighter and hadn't been in a proper fight since William all the way back in 1914. But that hadn't been the point of this. No, the point was Thomas being a colossal idiot who was too busy pining over a man who would never return his affections like some silly schoolgirl. Wincing, he reached his hand to his pocket to try and grab a cigarette but found his pockets empty. _Fuck._ Those bastards must have taken them along with all his money. He let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. He hoped someone would find him, he really didn't want to walk all the way back to Downton like this. He probably wouldn't even be able to make it back to the fair to ask for help in his condition. He didn't think anything had been broken but he was beaten to hell and hurt all over. It wasn't the first time he had been clobbered like this. In fact, he should probably be used to it by now.

Would anyone even notice he was gone? Would anyone even care? Mrs. Hughes might. She'd be the only one, however. Mrs. Patmore was so engrossed in her not-so-secret admirer the whole damn fair could catch fire and she'd be none the wiser. Daisy and Ivy had been awful cozy with each other all day and didn't pay him much thought, besides. He had speculations about that but it was also quite possible that he was projecting a bit so he let them go unvoiced—it would explain a few things about Daisy though. If Alfred had his way, Thomas would be rotting in a prison cell right now. Branson didn't care for him and Edna didn't care about anything that wasn't Branson. She needed to watch herself; her boldness was only matched by her stupidity and if she wasn't careful she'd find herself out on her ear.

God, Thomas hoped Jimmy would get help and not just run home. That would be just his luck, to get his face bashed in for a bloke and then be left to fend for himself. Fuck, he wished he had a cigarette, anything to take the edge off a bit. Idly, he started to go over the procedure for determining a concussion. He didn't think he had one but it was better to be safe than sorry and it wasn't like he could do much else on his own at the moment. _My name is Thomas Nathaniel Barrow. I'm thirty-one years old. The current prime minister is David Lloyd George—_

"—right up here, right in that tunnel!"

Shamefully, Thomas's stomach flipped at the sound of Jimmy's voice. What a fool he was, getting excited all because Jimmy had decided not to let him die in the street. It's what any decent human being would for another, nothing more. How pathetic was he that a gesture so inconsequential could make his chest tighten?

The approaching footsteps and voices brought Thomas back to reality.

"My goodness!" he heard Mrs. Hughes gasp.

He opened his eyes and saw the small crowd of familiar faces approaching him. _Damn._ If he had had the energy to be mortified he certainly would but he just couldn't manage more than slightly vexed resignation. Dr. Clarkson set off immediately, pulling out his handkerchief to stop some of the blood dripping from Thomas's nose and gave him a cursory looking over, taking off Thomas's jacket to do so. Mrs. Crawley wasted no time in leaping to righteous outrage.

"Is there any chance of apprehending these men?!" she exclaimed. Alfred shrugged, looking at Thomas with a relatively apathetic attitude.

"Not really," was his unconcerned response.

 _Fuck off, Alfred_ thought Thomas. Mrs. Hughes looked at him with that stare, the one that made him feel like he was a junior footman again instead of a full-grown man.

"But why did you get into a fight? It's not like you."

Thomas's eyes drifted up to Jimmy and Branson and Edna's eyes followed. Quickly, he looked away and turned his gaze downward. Thankfully the interrogation ended not too long after this with a few more questions, most of which he didn't have to answer. Dr. Clarkson and Alfred helped him up and before long he was on the wagonette home. He made a conscious effort not to look at Jimmy again.

Once back at Downton, Dr. Clarkson gave him a more comprehensive examination, helping him get out of his bloody clothes and into bed. In a rare stroke of luck, there wasn't too much damage to his clothes and the majority of the blood had dripped on his collar which any trained valet with half a brain could fix. As to be expected, Thomas had some nasty cuts and bruises but nothing was sprained or broken so he should be fine in a few day’s time. He knew that it would be slightly longer until he was allowed back on duty once Carson got a look at him. His face was too unsightly to serve at table and to be seen by the family in general.

 _Fuck me blind._ Thomas closed his eyes and tilted his back until it rested on the wall behind him. He was not looking forward to that conversation. He didn't know how to explain why he had done what he did and even if he could, he knew that Carson wouldn't care. He could hear it now, the thorough bollocking he would receive for "bringing down the family's honor by behaving like a shameless reprobate who brawls in back alleys". That was the last thing he needed today, as if his pride wasn't wounded enough.

Why had he done it? It wasn't as though he truly thought Jimmy would forgive him for his behavior just because he got himself smacked around a little. But God, did he hope that was the case. He knew that Jimmy would never love him, couldn't do so, but he would hate not at least being friendly. To be able to make jokes with him, the kind that only Jimmy seemed to appreciate. Jimmy had a mean streak in him that made Thomas feel like he wasn't completely out of his mind whenever they spoke. That probably wasn't the best thing to bond over but everyone else was just so... _nice._ Thomas could be considerate, he could be empathetic, he could even be gentle at times, but he was absolutely not under any circumstances a nice man. Never had been, never would be. But neither was James, not truly. He was polite when he wanted to be, he was funny and charming, he had been sympathetic when Thomas was mourning Lady Sybil, God bless her soul. He had been lovely, so, so lovely, but Thomas wasn't deluded enough to describe James as nice.

No, the reason Thomas had let himself get beat to a pulp for a man who had hardly said two words to him in a year and regarded his company with thinly veiled disgust was as simple as it was pathetic: he was just so lonely. Before Thomas could ignore it by pretending that he and O'Brien were friends but she had thrown him over for Alfred and that had stung him more than he would ever admit. Then Jimmy had shown up and they didn't have all the baggage that Thomas had with the other servants, he didn't know who Thomas actually was and how nasty he could be. He hadn't burned that bridge yet and Jimmy made him laugh, made him feel light and bubbly like he hadn't felt in years. He had been desperate for any human connection and like an absolute dunce had let himself develop feelings for the man. And that was all it took, a few nice words and smiles and Thomas would pull the moon out of the sky if Jimmy asked him to. He had always been like that. Once Thomas had committed himself to someone, really let himself fall in love, he was loyal to a fault. Maybe that was why he always pretended he was heartless because the intensity of his devotion terrified him. What terrified him even more is that he knew that if Jimmy were threatened by some thugs tomorrow he would take the beating again.

Wasn't that pathetic? Wasn't that so fucking _pitiful?_ He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to stave off the prickling tears he could feel threatening to spill over.

"God, stop being such a fucking girl," he mumbled to himself under his breath.

After he got his breathing under control and the urge to cry passed, he reached over to his bedside table to try and distract himself with the newspaper he had left there this morning. He didn't get very far before there was a knock on the door, sharp and precise. _Fuck._ A pit of ice grew in his stomach as Carson entered his room. The moment his eyes landed on Thomas his eyebrows flew up nearly to his hairline as he took in the state of Thomas's face.

"Well, I can see that Dr. Clarkson was not embellishing in his account," he cleared his throat in an attempt to suppress his surprise.

He took a step forward, entering the room more authoritatively. Thomas couldn't stand but his instincts made him sit ramrod straight before wincing in pain and gripping his side. Carson held out a hand in an "at ease" sort of gesture before folding his hands behind his back.

"As I'm certain I do not have to remind you, you are a high ranking member of staff. There is a precedent you must set as a representative of this household," he gave Thomas a pointed look. "That does not include getting into an all-out brawl at a village fair in the middle of the afternoon."

Thomas swallowed and looked down at his hands. He had learned ages ago that was easier if he just let Carson say his bit and then leave. Carson sighed heavily through his nose.

"Have you anything to say on the matter? It isn't like you to get into fights, is there an explanation you can offer for your behavior?" He looked at Thomas with an expression that demanded a response.

Thomas knew he couldn't say what had happened. He would get Jimmy into trouble and he wouldn't look so good himself either. Carson would just think he was a degenerate acting on his unnatural urges. No, it was better this way. Thomas shook his head, fixing his eyes back onto his hands.

"No, Mr. Carson."

"None at all?" Thomas shook his head again. Carson moved a little closer to Thomas and in this position with the butler looming over him, he felt quite small. "Are you certain? This situation does _not_ paint you favorably and you're on thin ice as it is, Mr. Barrow. Do you have _any_ explanation for me at all to justify your conduct today?"

He swallowed hard, still avoiding Carson's eyes. He had to switch gears and quickly. It wasn't ideal but it was better than nothing.

"I had had a bit to drink and was trying to make my way back to Downton. Some muggers grabbed me and took everything I had on me," he said quietly. "Jimmy—I mean, James found me and got Dr. Clarkson. That's all."

"Well if that's all, why didn't you say that in the first place?" Carson scoffed. Thomas shrugged.

"I feel very embarrassed by the whole thing," which wasn't a lie.

That everyone had seen Thomas beat to hell and back was humiliating. Everything about this was humiliating. And to add insult to literal injury, he had to explain himself like a naughty child to Mr. Carson. He let his eyes well up with tears in an attempt to earn a moment of fucking privacy. Like a true Englishman, Carson coughed uncomfortably and shuffled a bit, trying desperately to ignore the other man's emotional display.

"Right, well. Obviously, you can't be seen upstairs in your state so you shall have the rest of the week to recuperate while your injuries heal," Carson was making a deliberate point to not look at Thomas, looking around the room restlessly as Thomas wiped at his eyes and sniffed a few times for effect. "I hope you use this time to reflect on the values of this household and how your actions should emulate said values."

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Thomas said in a small shaky voice, laying it on just a tad thick.

Carson nodded and made his exit, finally leaving Thomas alone so he could try to not think about the events of the day. He had garnered about a half-hour of peace to read the paper before another series of knocks cut through the air, far too hesitant to be Carson again. Before he could register annoyance at being disturbed _again_ , the figure in the doorway gave him pause. It was Jimmy, his usual air of easy confidence gone and replaced with an uncertainty that colored his face and posture. He looked nervous and a touch contrite, though the latter might have been wishful thinking on Thomas's part. He could feel his expression go soft and internally cursed himself for being so transparent. Desperate to cut the palpable tension, Thomas broke the silence when it was clear Jimmy was reluctant to speak first.

"What're you doing up here?" he said, attempting to sound laidback but unable to keep the sharp edges out.

He put his newspaper back on his bedside table and looked back at Jimmy in that nervous way he did now, reluctant to look at his face too long for fear of rebuke. The rest of the conversation went this way, with Thomas on pins and needles waiting for the other shoe to drop as it always did. But for once, he was surprised; Jimmy forgave him and wanted to be friends. At this, Thomas finally relaxed and the two almost fell back into their old patterns, although not quite. Even though Jimmy may have agreed to reconciliation, Thomas was still in an uncomfortable position. He had to watch himself and his every action so that he not do anything that could be perceived as untoward. He had done this song and dance before with Sam, although luckily it wasn't Jimmy who hit him this time–at least not yet. While the two joked about whatever absurd thing they could find in the paper, Thomas couldn't stop his train of thought as it chugged along in the back of his mind, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach. _It's funny how things don't change. The price is still blood. You can have friends but you have to bleed for it first. It's your penance for being a nancy. And you deserve it, you do. You took advantage, you couldn't just pretend to be bloody normal, could you? No, you couldn't. Now here you are, handing over your pound of flesh so you can have a laugh._

Jimmy visited him the next few days while he recovered, not for too long, maybe an hour or so to talk or play cards or something. Each time he entered the room, the dark thoughts came with him. For the most part, Thomas was able to suppress them before things took a turn for the worse but when Jimmy would leave, he would stew in them. Eventually, he decided that it didn't matter. Maybe this is the lot that men like him were allowed. Maybe this was the best he could ever hope for. And what was a little blood anyway in the long run?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I alluded to in the last chapter notes, I don't think Thomas and Jimmy have a very healthy friendship and tried to set up the headspace Thomas would be in after their reconciliation.
> 
> ALSO, I am a huge believer that Daisy is 100% a lesbian and has weird complicated feelings about Ivy and I may write a whole story about that but I couldn't resist mentioning it here. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading!


End file.
